Soup
by dejaceratops
Summary: "Does that make me a god?" "Yes. Mine."


**Author's Note:** I should really give up trying to make Johnnymuse and Randalmuse do as I ask. I give them a general outline of what I want them to do, and they lead me into thinking they're gonna listen before Randalmuse convinces Johnnymuse that it would totally be fun to veer WAAAAAAAAAAAAY off the original course and scare the shit outta Momma Daydream. So keep that in mind. They didn't do what I told them to.

John sat quietly in the waiting room, bouncing his left leg up and down nervously. He'd been sitting there for almost an hour and was beginning to get worried. Things were taking much longer than he  
>expected, and he wasn't sure exactly what that meant. It couldn't be good though.<p>

He let out a heavy sigh and jumped when he felt a light hand land on his knee. He looked up to see the older lady next to him smiling sweetly.

"Stop fidgeting. He'll be fine."

"I'm sorry?"

"The young man who went back? Your partner? He'll be all right. You needn't worry about him. He seems like the type who wouldn't appreciate it much."

John laughed, ignoring the fact that this woman had pegged him as Randy's boyfriend and concentrating instead on how accurately she had profiled Randy.

"You picked up on that, huh?"

"He gives off rather strong vibes," she responded diplomatically. John laughed again.

"That he does."

"He also looks quite sick." John sobered quickly, his handsome face turning down into a solemn frown.

"...That too."

"Get him home, give him a giant bowl of hot soup, and wrap him up in some nice warm blankets. Make sure he drinks and rests. He looks like a strong boy. He'll kick this in a day or two and be just fine."

John let out a huff of air and dragged his hands over his face. He desperately hoped this lady was right, but it was hard for him to dismiss his worry when he thought back on how bad Randy had been the  
>night before.<p>

~*~

It had started out simply enough. Two days earlier he and Randy had been at the racetrack when John slipped his hand in Randy's and frowned.

"You're hot."

Randy laughed. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

John ignored Randy and pressed a hand to his forehead. "No, Rand, I mean your skin is hot. Like, hot even for you hot." Randy's skin was always a few degrees warmer than his own - it made cuddling in the  
>colder months even more fun - but this was different, and John was concerned. "Do you feel ok?"<p>

Randy shrugged. "A little light-headed. But I haven't eaten all day, so..." He shrugged again and trailed off as John stood up from his seat and walked away. When he came back minutes later with two enormous hot dogs, holding one out, Randy grinned. "How badly do you wanna see my shove that thing in my mouth whole?"

John didn't take the bait. "Eat."

"Johnny-"

"iEat/i, Randal." Randy smiled to himself and sighed, leaning over to kiss John's cheek before thanking him sweetly and taking a bite of his hot dog. John relaxed, thinking that perhaps some food would take care of Randy's symptoms.

Randy had been fine for hours afterwards. The pair had visited a small carnival and walked around, taking in the sights and sounds of the festivities.

"Lanna would love this. We'll have to bring her next time." When Randy didn't answer, John turned to look at his lover and stopped in his tracks. Randy was frowning slightly, and his breathing was heavy, deliberate, as if he were trying to calm himself down.

"I'm nauseous."

"We're going home."

The rest of the night the two had lain in bed, John rubbing Randy's back in an attempt to soothe the younger man and himself.

The following morning had been rough. Randy had woken up headache-y and congested and stayed that way all day, curled up in a ball and long arms squeezing around his waist as he tried to squash the queasiness in his stomach into nothingness. It wasn't working.

John had done as much as he could to keep Randy comfortable, but no amount of DayQuil, chicken noodle soup, or gentle massaging made Randy feel any better. After feeling miserable all day, Randy had finally managed to calm down enough to sleep at around 1 AM, and John slept lightly next to him. He was roused harshly from his fitful slumber at around four in the morning when Randy shot off the bed and sprinted to the bathroom. When John caught up with him, he found Randy retching into the toilet bowl, all the soup and grilled cheese he'd eaten that day leaving his body. John rubbed Randy's shoulders and whispered soothingly to him as he vomited, cringing at hearing the sounds coming from his lover. He rubbed circles around the back of Randy's neck until he was finished bringing everything up then ran warm water over a washcloth and cleaned off Randy's face. His heart clenched tightly when he saw tear tracks running down Randy's cheeks. He knew how much his lover hated throwing up, and he wished desperately that he knew how to make the sick man feel better. He cradled Randy's face in his hands and wiped his tears with the pads of his thumbs, Randy too sick and too weak to protest to John's sappy gesture.

"I'm so tired, Johnny. Wanna go back to bed."

"I know, baby, I know. Can you handle brushing your teeth first?" Randy nodded, and John handed him his toothbrush after squeezing a bit of toothpaste onto it. He watched as Randy brushed, the younger man's fatigue apparent in the lethargy of his movements and the hunch of his shoulders. He brought Randy a paper cup to spit into and another filled with water to rinse with before he lifted him off the bathroom floor, Randy's arms winding around his neck, and carried him back across the hallway to their bedroom. He placed Randy gently on the bed, frowning deeply when he folded in on himself and burrowed into the mattress. John climbed carefully into bed behind him and wrapped his arms around Randy's waist, smiling briefly when Randy pulled him closer and snuggled backwards into his chest.

"I'm making you a doctor's appointment. First thing in the morning, you're going to see someone." Randy groaned and opened his mouth to protest.

"John, I don't-"

"Dammit, Randy, shut iup/i. You're going." Randy sat up quickly. Sick or not, he wasn't about to let John order him around.

"Who the hell are you telling to shut-" Randy stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence and frowned. Before John could ask what was wrong, Randy clamored out of bed again. His natural grace had left him as he tripped over his own long legs in his haste to reach the toilet. John was right behind him, catching Randy as he threw himself to the tiles in front of the bowl and losing the contents of his stomach once again. He murmured quietly into the back of Randy's neck, arms wrapped securely around his waist, and he cringed as he felt Randy's stomach muscles bunch under his arms while the younger man brought up more of his food.

"Shit. I thought you got it all out the first time." Randy coughed and sat up, sniffling back more tears.

"Apparently not."

"Do you have anything left?"

"Don't think so." Randy's voice was hoarse, and his eyes were bright with tears. Seeing the love of his life like this was tearing John to pieces. He reached to hand Randy his toothbrush and was surprised when Randy stopped him. "No point. There's more coming. I feel it."

John's eyes slipped closed. He hated how lost Randy sounded. How dejected.

"I'll go get some pillows."

"A blanket too, please." John nodded, too concerned with Randy's deteriorating health to make jokes about how rarely he said please. He went back to their shared bedroom, grabbing two king-sized pillows and the thick cream-colored comforter off their bed. By the time he got back to the bathroom, he found Randy leaning over the bowl, retching once again. He dropped everything and leaned down on the floor behind his boyfriend, kissing the strong shoulders as they trembled.

"…I hate Dr. Miller." John smiled against Randy's shoulder.

"I know. I'll call Dr. DeMonaco. She loves you; she'll make space for you." John pulled Randy into the corner where he set up their pillows. Randy waited for John to get settled before settling between John's legs and snuggling into his chest. John leaned back against the wall and wrapped his arms tightly around Randy. It was rare for Randy to get sick; in the ten plus years they'd known each other, he could count the number of colds Randy had gotten on one hand with fingers left to spare. He'd only seen Randy this violently ill once, and that was due to food poisoning. This, however, was different, and John knew it. The pair managed to get three hours of sleep between them before John finally convinced Randy to let him leave long enough to grab his cell phone so he could make an appointment at the doctor's office. At nine that morning, the two cleaned themselves up and dressed before heading out.

It had only taken minutes for Dr. DeMonaco's nurse to call Randy into the back once they'd checked in, and John was glad. Now as he looked up at the clock and realized that that had been an hour and fifteen minutes earlier, he got anxious. Just as he was about to get up and advance to the window to harass the nurses in the back into giving him information on his lover, the door to the rooms in the back of the office opened and John lost his breath.

Sick or not, Randy was still striking. The man was as gorgeous as ever, but John could tell instantly how miserable he felt. The circles around his eyes were a reddish purple tint splashed above his cheekbones. His eyes were dull and not their bright, clear blue, and his golden skin had paled. Where he normally stood tall and proud, steps deliberate and measured, his shoulders were now rounded and his feet shuffled across the floor. He seemed almost deflated.

John was shocked when Randy walked straight to him and almost fell into him, linking his arms around John's waist. He hugged Randy back, looking over his shoulder to see the sweet older lady who'd comforted him earlier smiling brightly at their rare public display of affection. John turned back to his lover, kissing the curve of his shoulder before looking up at the small woman standing before him.

"So? What's the verdict?"

"Mmsck."

"iWhat/i?" Randy lifted his head and stared into John's eyes, expression serious.

"I'm sick. Obviously." John barely managed to curb his desire to smack the back of Randy's head, instead shaking his head as the lady behind him and the doctor laughed.

"Randy's right. He iis/i sick. It's not serious though."

"Not serious? What the hell do you mean it's not serious? He was up all night puking his guts out!" Randy squeezed John, silently telling him to behave while the doctor tried to explain herself.

"Randy's symptoms are indeed very serious, John, but he's not seriously ill. The fact is that Randy so rarely gets sick that when it does happen, as it has now, his body reacts more violently than yours or mine would. The fact that he's worn out from working around the clock and nursing an injured shoulder certainly doesn't help." Every muscle in John's body tensed, coiling like springs, and Randy groaned.

"You weren't supposed to say that." Dr. DeMonaco cringed.

"Sorry. Slip up." Randy chewed his bottom lip nervously as John stared at him, his voice cool and even as he spoke.

"What is she talking about?"

"He's just been overextending his left arm, and his joint is a bit sore. With some rest, his injury and his illness should clear right up," Dr. DeMonaco assured him, breathing easier as the tight lines in John's body rounded out. John inhaled deeply and sent a glare towards his lover. He turned back to the doctor, arm wrapping subconsciously around Randy's waist.

"How do I make him better?" The doctor smiled.

"Keep up the doses of DayQuil and NyQuil. Give him something light to eat like soup and maybe a few Saltines, but nothing too heavy. Make sure he's rested and drinking plenty of fluids. He should be fine in a few days." John smiled, relieved to hear the young doctor echo what the other woman in the waiting room had told him minutes earlier. "If Randy's condition changes or if you have any questions, feel free to call me."

"Thanks, Doc," John replied and with that, he and Randy left the doctor's office, John throwing a grateful smile over his shoulder at his waiting room buddy.

"Randy?"

John knocked softly on the door to his bedroom, waiting quietly for a response before going inside. His brow creased with worry when he heard no response, and he pushed the door open slowly, peering into the dark room.

A low groan sounded from somewhere near the area of his bed, and he breathed easier, smiling gently. He picked up the small tray he'd placed on the ground and carried it cautiously to his bed, balancing it precariously on one arm while he reached down to turn on the small bedside lamp. He laughed when he heard Randy grumble as he pulled the comforter over his head. He set the tray on the floor and crawled onto the bed, straddling what he was guessing were Randy's legs beneath the covers and slowly pulling the covers down over Randy's head.

"Come on, handsome. You gotta eat something."

"I don't wanna."

"Since when do you not wanna eat?"

"It's soup. I've had nothing but soup for two days now. I'm fucking sick of soup." John couldn't help but grin broadly as he listened to Randy. He knew his lover was sick and exhausted, and when that happened, Randy got petulant like a toddler fighting sleep. It was cute. He'd never tell Randy that, of course. He'd get himself a swift kick to the balls if he even hinted at it.

"But this is different, Rand. It's homemade." Randy lifted himself up on his elbows, peering up into John's face.

"Your mom's?" John nodded.

"I called her from the doctor's office this morning and told her you were sick. She brought a pot over while you were asleep." Randy sat up slowly, looking over the side of the bed at the tray John had brought up from the kitchen.

"I love your mom's soup. It's like home in a bowl." John beamed as he leaned over and planted a sweet kiss on Randy's forehead. Getting off the bed, he grabbed the tray and brought it to Randy, waiting until the younger man was settled against the pillows before pulling open the legs of the tray and pacing it over Randy's lap.

He smiled as Randy leaned over the bowl, almost burying his face in the soup as he took in a giant sniff. "God, that smells amazing," he groaned. John smiled and settled himself over Randy's legs once again, picking up the spoon he'd brought with him and dipping it into the soup.

"Here. Blow."

"You're feeding me?" John cocked an eyebrow.

"Do you have the energy to feed yourself?" His heart clenched as he watched Randy shake his head. iMy poor Randy…/i

"I just – I wasn't complaining. I just...thank you, babe. For taking care of me." John bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from tearing up at the sincerity in Randy's voice. He put down the spoon and cupped Randy's face in his hands, kissing him gently before pulling away to look into his eyes.

"I love taking care of you. You don't have to thank me for it." He kissed Randy's cheek and handed him a napkin before picking up the spoon again and letting it fill with broth. "Let's start with the broth and if you can keep it down we'll go for the noodles and vegetables and the chicken, ok?" Randy nodded his assent and sipped gingerly at the broth. The temperature was perfect, and he felt the liquid warm his insides as he swallowed it down. His eyes slipped closed in pleasure as the taste slid over his tongue. Carol Cena was a genius in the kitchen.

"Your mother is a goddess," he whispered, leaning in to take another spoonful of broth from the outstretched spoon in John's hand. John laughed brightly.

"Does that make me a god?" he asked jokingly. Randy responded, eyes still closed.

"Yes. Mine." It took every ounce of John's considerable willpower not to throw the tray to the ground and show his younger lover exactly how much his words affected him. His heart swelled to the point that he was sure it was stretching through his skin, and Randy could clearly see it. He wasn't sure what he'd done in this life or any other to deserve to be loved so completely by someone as perfect as Randy, but he wasn't going to question it.

"You…I…God, Randy, I-" He took a deep breath and started again. "I love you. I just…I love you."

Randy took in the next spoonful of broth and smiled, eyes looking a bit bluer than they had in days. "I love you more, I assure you. How could I not? You feed me." John snorted and shook his head, digging deeper into the bowl with the spoon to gather a few noodles with the broth this time.

"You ready for more?" John asked and Randy nodded, taking his time chewing and swallowing the noodles. He sat for a few minutes, waiting to see how his stomach would handle the solid food, and he was excited when he felt nausea-free. John was encouraged as well as he lifted another spoonful to Randy's lips, this time adding a few carrots.

So they spent the next hour, John slowly feeding Randy manageable portions of his mother's homemade soup and Randy savoring the warmth of the soup in his belly and John's weight pressing into his legs. He was starting to feel considerably better, and he wasn't sure why. While he had taken quite a few doses of medication, he was certain it was John who was the real cure to his ailment, his lover being infinitely patient with him and doing everything in his power to keep him comfortable. Randy was truly touched by all the care John had put into making sure that he got better, and the more John took care of him, wiping soup from his chin before it dripped onto his chest and placing loving kisses against his cheeks and temples, the more certain he was that he would never give himself to another human being for the rest of his life. He was truly and thoroughly John's, and he knew after witnessing how attentively John had cared for him over the past two days that John belonged to him just as surely. Randy bit his lip and closed his eyes, fighting to keep his tears at bay. He'd never felt such peace in his heart, in his isoul/i as he did at that moment, and he was overwhelmed by the absolute rightness of it.

John could almost feel the change in the atmosphere as he set the tray with the empty bowl and spoon onto the floor by the bed. He looked up and was shocked to see Randy. He looked completely different than he had only minutes ago. His skin glowed gorgeously in the lamplight, and his eyes shone with a light that he hadn't seen in what felt like ages, making the bags under Randy's eyes all but disappear. He blinked several times, thinking the warmth from the room, the soup, and Randy's body had lulled him to sleep and that he was dreaming. He focused on Randy again, even more stunned to see that the younger man indeed looked better than he had in days.

"My mom put cocaine in that soup or some shit." Randy laughed, the sound clear and precious, and John tucked it away in the corner of his heart reserved for only Randy so he could relive it and relish it for the rest of his life. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard, and he wanted to keep it with him forever. "You…you look perfect. How do you feel?"

Randy shrugged, and John huffed in exasperation. He hated that damn habit of his. "I feel better. Not perfect. But better." He reached out and grabbed John by the front of his jeans, pulling the older man close to his body. John rested his hands on the headboard on either side of Randy's head, his forehead pressed against Randy's as the two looked into each other's eyes. Randy yawned widely, and John chuckled, pressing a kiss into Randy's eyebrow.

"Sleep now, baby?" John asked, fingers drifting lightly over the circles under Randy's eyes. Randy nodded, his head heavy with sickness and sleep but his heart heavy with a deep peace.

"Hold me?" Randy gazed up into John's face, trying to convey everything he was feeling without saying a word. John, of course, understood. He always did.

"Always," he replied, climbing under the covers as Randy snuggled into the pillows.

"Shit. The lamp's still on. Hang on, Ra-" John was cut off as the room was plunged into darkness, Randy having reached blindly towards the outlet in the wall and ripped the lamp's cord out of the socket.

John shook his head and pulled Randy into his body, humming contentedly as his lover rested his head against his chest and threw a leg across his own. He traced invisible paths across Randy's broad shoulders and soon found himself drifting off to sleep, even before Randy.

Randy watched John sleep, tracing over his cheekbones with his fingertips. He still felt sick and achy, his body reminding him that he wasn't perfectly healthy quite yet, but he didn't care. He vowed to himself that as soon as he was 100%, he would take the time to show John exactly how much he appreciated his attention. He soon followed John into sleep with a smile on his face, imagining all the ways he could show John his gratitude that didn't require leaving their bedroom or any tools other than his hands, his mouth, and his own body.

He couldn't wait to try them all.


End file.
